‘He’s gone off to the football. He’s the team doctor.’
‘Been gone long?’
‘An hour, I suppose.’
‘Is there a bus that goes to the football oval?’
‘I think you just missed it. You could try the ladies down at the railway station. They send pies and cakes over to sell at half-time – I’m sure someone will give you a lift.’
The reserves match third-quarter break was under way when Berlin arrived at the ground. There were thirty-six players on the field, plus the umpires and perhaps triple that number of spectators outside the fence. The team from Yarrawonga and some supporters and officials had travelled down crammed into the back of an old Bedford removalist’s van. About a dozen cars were parked around the outer edges of the ground, including the grey Austin.
He spotted Rebecca leaning on the boundary fence, wearing a black beret and a long woollen coat over her trousers.
‘I missed you this morning.’ He thought he might feel embarrassed saying it but he didn’t.
‘That’s very nice to hear, Charlie.’
The wail of a siren announced the start of the final quarter. Berlin saw that the siren came from a military police jeep parked on the other side of the oval and he could make out Sergeant Whitmore behind the wheel.
‘You picked a winner yet?’ he asked. The scoreboard showed the teams were about even.
Rebecca shook her head. ‘But your Constable Roberts is very handy, as it happens, and it doesn’t seem like Kenny has suffered from being locked up and accused of chopping off his girlfriend’s head.’
‘How’d you know about that?’ Berlin asked. ‘Kenny and the girl keeping company?’
‘I’ve been asking around, Charlie, that’s what reporters do. You know she was going to get an abortion?’
Berlin nodded. ‘Shame she had to go to a butcher.’
‘Can you prove it?’
‘Not yet. I can’t imagine that anyone in this town is going to come forward and point the finger.’
There was a sudden roar from the crowd and angry shouts aimed at the umpire from the Yarrawonga supporters.
‘My, my,’ said Rebecca, ‘Kenny is getting a little bit physical out there today. I reckon we might have to call for the doctor before this is over.’
Berlin scanned the crowd. ‘Have you seen him?’
‘Parked under that gum tree. Looks like he’s staying inside, out of the cold and close to his bottle.’
Berlin could see the doctor sitting behind the wheel of the Snipe.
Rebecca’s prediction of on-field injury came true just before full time. Kenny ran up the back of a Yarrawonga winger while chasing a soaring punt kick from Roberts and came down hard on the arm of an opposing player. Berlin winced at the cracking sound that carried clearly across the oval. Champion ignored the player writhing on the ground and snapped a punt right between the centre goalposts to score six points and put Wodonga in front.
There was a pause while the winger was helped off the ground and over towards the Snipe. Berlin watched the doctor climb awkwardly out of the big saloon car. The examination he gave the player was perfunctory at best.
‘Probably having a bit of trouble remembering if the knee bone’s connected to the thigh bone or the elbow,’ Rebecca said.
‘I reckon it was probably Champion’s knee bone connecting to the young bloke’s wrist that did the damage.’
The doctor waved over a waiting ute, which drove across the grass and stopped near the Snipe. The injured player climbed into the passenger seat and a couple of his mates clambered into the back. As the ute drove out of the sports ground it bounced heavily over several deep ruts and they could almost hear the gasps of pain from inside the cab.
The players were back in action and the Pigeons were fired up and looking for revenge.
‘You have any plans for after the game?’ Rebecca asked. ‘The Postman Always Rings Twice is on at the Regent in Albury. According to the trailer Garfield and Turner are supposed to steam up the screen. Or there’s dancing at the hall down by the water tower in town.’
‘I’ll be keeping an eye on that shed at Bandiana with Roberts.’
‘You think they’ll be on the road tonight?’
‘Who knows, but if they are, I plan on being there. But right now I’m going to wander over and have a word with the doctor.’
Morris was leaning on the front mudguard of his car and Berlin could smell whisky from about ten feet away.
‘Broken arm?’
‘Probably. I sent him off to the hospital in Albury for an X-ray and a cast.’
‘Young Kenny Champion seems to be in a bit of a mood out there.’
‘I thought you had him locked up. Change your mind? Do you think it was his father?’
Berlin shook his head. ‘Right now I know who didn’t kill Jenny Lee, and I’ve got a fair idea who did. I’m just putting the pieces together and, as us coppers like to say, we’re getting very close to making an arrest.’
But Berlin knew he was a long way from making an arrest because he had no real evidence yet. If Morris was the local abortionist it would only be with the full knowledge and acquiescence of the cops, and no woman would ever be willing to give evidence that he had performed an abortion on them or someone they knew. It was the same in the city, so why should it be any different here? Everyone just closed their eyes and turned their backs and pretended it never happened.
‘No offence intended, Doc, but I’m planning on having the girl’s body released from the mortuary and getting a second autopsy done over in Albury.’
‘You don’t trust my judgement?’
‘I don’t trust anybody’s judgement but my own. That’s what comes with being a copper.’
A siren blast from Whitmore’s jeep announced full-time for the reserves match.
‘I’ll be in touch, Doctor Morris. Enjoy your afternoon.’
Morris climbed back into his car as the reserve players left the field to scattered applause. The spectators climbed back into their cars to wait for the first-grade game to begin. The wind was picking up a little and dark grey clouds were building in the east. Berlin pulled on his gloves, tightened his scarf and crossed the oval towards Whitmore’s jeep.
SIXTY-TWO
Despite the cold, Whitmore had the canvas top of the jeep folded back and the hinged windscreen lying forward on the bonnet. He was in the driver’s seat, wearing a heavy khaki greatcoat over his uniform with a knitted woollen beanie, also khaki, pulled down around his ears. The left side of the sergeant’s face was bruised, his right eyebrow was swollen and there was a single stitch sewn into a blackened lower lip.
‘I’d say that I’d like to see what the other bloke looked like, Pete, but I already did.’
‘Hullo, Charlie. Hop in.’ He indicated the passenger seat and Berlin climbed in. ‘Had you picked as a sporting man from the beginning – the broken nose is always a giveaway.’
‘First time was boxing and then it was football. I guess I’m a slow learner.’
‘And then you became a cop so I’d say there’s no guessing about it. You catch our young Kenny out on the paddock?’
‘I saw some blokes going down and teeth flying so I figured that Kenny might be involved somewhere.’
‘He had a pretty good game, all things considered. What do you reckon, think he might have a chance of playing with the big boys?’
‘He’s got good form and he’s not afraid to go in boots and all. If he can sort things out with his old man and stay away from bad influences he probably could have a shot with a Melbourne team.’
‘You talking bad influences as in a woman?’
‘I know he didn’t kill the Lee girl, Pete, that’s why he’s out playing.’
‘You know who did?’
‘I think so.’
‘Her parents would appreciate you getting that sorted. I told them you would.’
‘How’d you get friendly with them?’
‘I
developed a taste for Asian food while I was up north, and in Japan. It’s good tucker. I started to order a bit of stuff up from Chinatown in Melbourne through their shop and one day Mrs Lee got curious and invited me out the back for dinner. She almost fell off her chair when she saw I could use chopsticks and that I actually liked Chinese tea. You want some hot coffee, by the way?’
‘Thanks, that’d be good.’
‘Help yourself, there’s a thermos and a couple of tin mugs in the back.’
Berlin twisted awkwardly and found the thermos and a mug. ‘You having one?’
Whitmore shook his head.
Berlin pulled the cork from the thermos. ‘Guts still crook?’
‘Yep. Last night’s entertainment didn’t help a whole lot, either.’
‘I’ll bloody bet.’ Berlin held the hot enamel mug with both hands to warm them and sipped the coffee. ‘Why did you think that was a good idea?’
‘Bit of a blue keeps the old blood pumping, Charlie. Lets a man know he’s still alive. It’s the ladies who do it for some blokes, but for me it’s a little bit of biff, a little bit of knuckle action that gets the adrenalin flowing.’
‘Do you reckon it might be the same for the Bandiana Boys?’
‘Who?’
‘That’s what Rebecca’s christened the gang doing those robberies.’
‘It’s very catchy, but why Bandiana? Why not Barnawartha, say?’
‘We had a report of some blokes on bikes pulling a disappearing act near the Bandiana oval on Tuesday morning. And Bandiana seems to be central to what’s been going on around here, geographically speaking. Take a good look at a map of all the robberies and you’ll see they’ve all been within easy driving distance of Wodonga and never more than a three- or four-hour round trip.’
‘That so?’
‘And never over the river, never in New South Wales.’
‘You don’t cross bridges if you can help it, Charlie. Bridges are choke points. If someone’s on the run the last thing they want to have to do is cross a bridge. Too easy to bail someone up. A couple of phone calls and you can quickly block all the crossing points.’
‘They taught us that in Europe, too, in case we got shot down.’
The first-grade teams were on the ground now, the Wodonga Bulldogs in their brown and white jumpers and the visiting Pigeons in blue and white. They were bigger and more solid men than the reserves. Whitmore glanced at his watch, leaned down to the dash and flipped a switch, starting the siren mounted on the jeep’s front mudguard wailing. As the sound faded, the umpire standing centre field blew his whistle and bounced the ball hard. The ruckmen went up after it and then the Wodonga rover had the ball and it was on.
Berlin watched the game with an eye sharpened by his grandfather’s observations and opinions. There was little skill in most of the play and it was rough and tumble from the start. When it began to drizzle halfway through the second quarter it became a muddy free-for-all, but no one seemed to mind. Whitmore put the roof up on the jeep but left the windscreen down and at half-time, after he hit the siren, he had a sudden coughing fit. Berlin saw blood in his handkerchief.
‘You being a New South Welshman, Pete, I’m surprised you follow Australian Rules.’
Whitmore casually folded his handkerchief, hiding the red stain. ‘I grew up with Rugby League but I don’t mind this game. And Spud plays sometimes so you have to support your mates.’
‘Spud’s not out there today, is he?’
‘Spud did something silly last night and got himself injured. Self-inflicted wound I’d classify it as, and by rights he should be on a charge.’
Whitmore had another coughing spasm and there was more blood on the handkerchief.
‘That sounds nasty.’
‘Just some wog that’s going around.’ Whitmore folded the handkerchief carefully and smiled. ‘I’ll shake it soon enough.’
‘You want to start looking after yourself, Pete. Get some early nights, maybe. Stay inside, out of the night air. You know what they say, it’s not the cough that will carry you off, it’s the coffin they carry you off’in.’
‘You’re a bit of a smart bugger, aren’t you, Charlie?’
‘That’s what people keep telling me lately. Down in Melbourne they reckon I’m the bottom of the barrel, Pete.’
‘Bugger ’em, Charlie, don’t sell yourself short. The cream always rises, just give it time. That’s in milk, of course. The police and the military are more like septic tanks I’m afraid – what rises to the top is another matter entirely.’
‘Spoken like a career NCO.’ Berlin raised his enamel mug in a toast.
‘Backbone of the service, Charlie, your NCOs, your sergeants.’ He paused for a moment. ‘And your sergeant pilots … and detective constables. Unconstrained by polite education and good breeding and manners we are free to pursue the task at hand.’ He glanced at his watch and leaned forward towards the siren switch. ‘And the task at hand right now is getting this game back under way.’
The two men sat silently for the second half of the match. It was beginning to get dark as the last quarter played out, but the rain held off. Yarrawonga took advantage of Spud Murphy’s absence and brought the game right up to Wodonga, who were only four points ahead with just minutes to play. A fumble by one of the Bulldogs players gave the ball to the Pigeons, who began moving it quickly upfield, towards the goalposts and a shot at the six points they would need for victory.
‘This is looking a bit grim, Charlie,’ Whitmore said, and then he checked his watch and leaned forward and flicked the siren on. Out on the field a mystified umpire checked his own watch and then shrugged and called the game for Wodonga.
Whitmore grinned at Berlin and winked. ‘No bugger said anything about Marquis of Queensbury rules, Charlie old son.’
‘You’re right there, Pete, no bugger did.’
SIXTY-THREE
Cold beer and hot pies were available after the game but it was getting dark and very chilly. There were unhappy mutterings about the timekeeping from a number of Pigeons players and supporters and the projected after-match party didn’t look like it would happen. Berlin went looking for Roberts. He’d been hoping to get a ride with Rebecca but after the siren sounded the Austin was gone. There was no sign of the doctor or his dark green Humber Snipe, either.
Berlin spotted Rebecca’s Austin parked outside the surgery, next to the Snipe, and told Roberts to pull over. He left Roberts in the car and walked to the surgery’s front door. The brass plaque mounted beside the door was lit by an overhead electric lamp, with SURGERY etched in the red glass shade. Strange how red lights are the signs for whores and doctors, Berlin thought to himself. Then he heard the gunshot.
Roberts was already halfway out of the car when Berlin yelled, ‘Get round the back and don’t go doing anything stupid.’
The front door was unlocked and he let himself into a darkened corridor, holding the little Browning in his right hand. The place had the carbolic acid and chloroform smells he associated with doctors. And something else, something he associated with death. Berlin badly wanted not to take another step but he knew he had to.
Further down the corridor, light came out of an open door with a sign reading WAITING ROOM. Another door, half ajar, was marked DOCTOR in faded gold lettering. Berlin pushed the door open slowly with his foot, holding the pistol out in front of him. There was an examination bed in one corner, draped in white sheets with a movable, metal-framed screen beside it. A washbasin was fitted into another corner, near a glass-fronted cabinet full of surgical instruments. The only light in the room was coming from a brass banker’s lamp on the desk. The smell of death was much stronger in this room and now his instinct was to turn and run as fast and as far away from it as he could.
The doctor’s desk had a Morocco leather top protected by a sheet of glass. There was a pen and inkwell desk set in the middle and to one side a black telephone and pile of medical texts. A metal tray held a bottle of Scotch and a Ba
kelite ice bucket with the name WHITE HORSE WHISKY embossed in red under the symbol of a prancing horse. There were two cut-glass tumblers on the desk. The one in front of Rebecca was half-full and the one in front of the doctor was on its side, the whisky gathered in a small golden puddle.
Rebecca was sitting in a chair facing the desk, with her back to the door. She didn’t move when Berlin came into the room. On the other side of the desk the upper part of the doctor’s body was in shadow. He was leaning back in a chair with leather-padded armrests. The shotgun had stayed balanced between his legs, upright, with his left hand hanging limply, the index finger still inside the trigger guard. The smell of burnt gunpowder lingered in the air and Berlin’s mind flashed to that morning on the Polish–German border when the Jewess had chosen her time to go and the SS officer with the missing finger and the pistol, for the first and possibly last time in his life, had done exactly what a Jew wanted of him.
Rebecca picked up the whisky glass. She was shaking and it took both hands to get it up to her mouth. ‘He started drinking after his wife died, well drinking seriously anyway. His patients started drifting away and eventually there were only the post-mortems and abortions left. He helped the police out with one and they left him alone to do the other. Poor bugger said the only people he got to see in the end were the dead and the desperate.’
‘He say what happened with the Lee girl?’
‘He botched the abortion, pissed as a cricket, and she bled to death on the bed over there.’
Berlin could see where someone had almost scrubbed all the lacquer off the floorboards. Morris had probably used bleach to try to remove all the blood.
‘He panicked afterwards and dumped the body in the alley.’
Berlin poured her more whisky. ‘And he cut off her head, figuring the local cops would probably blame Kenny or his old man.’
‘That’s about the size of it, Charlie. Since he’d be doing the autopsy no one needed to know about the abortion. And with her being Chinese he figured the police around here wouldn’t investigate too thoroughly.’
The Diggers Rest Hotel Page 24